“I’ve moved away from the engineering now. Management.” He laughed, self-deprecating. “There’s talk of making me a veep of technology. Can you believe that? And you — how are you?”

Me? Still playing at being a spacewoman. “Oh, fine,” she said awkwardly. “If you read the press, you probably know more about me than I do.”

“Yeah. I was pleased for you, Natalie. Pleased you achieved what you wanted…” He sounded embarrassed, and he backed off quickly into generalities. “And it’s good the way interest has picked up in the mission, since your appointments were announced. I follow the news, of course. There has been a lot of hostility over the years, to the Mars initiative, hasn’t there? But now that seems to be reversing. It’s like Apollo 11 all over again…”

That seemed to be true, she reflected; a number of people had said it to her. Somehow the general, persistent opposition to manned spaceflight had dissipated, if briefly, as people focused on the three of them, the humans who would be making the extraordinary journey. When spaceflight came down from the realms of rocketry and scientific objectives, and turned into something human, people responded.

But York knew that Muldoon and Josephson and others were already worrying about what would come after Ares, how quickly this mood would dissipate.

“I think it’s because of you, Natalie,” Conlig said hesitantly.

“Me? How so?”

“Because you’re a woman, probably. And because you’re a recognizable human being, definitely. Not one of those damn inarticulate robots they sent to the Moon. Underneath, I figure, people always did want the space program to do well. To go places. It’s a basic human thing. And hell, we can afford it, when Reagan is talking about spending a trillion bucks on defense. But the cold, inhuman face NASA always puts up turns everybody off. But now, people want you to succeed because you are one of us. You know what I mean?” Conlig was studying her, his expression complex.

“Damn it, Mike. That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

It was the first time she’d seen him since their final fight, after the NERVA thing. It was brave of him to come, she supposed. If her own feelings about Ben were so complex, so guilt-laden, God alone knew what Mike must be feeling.

But he didn’t seem perturbed. Maybe he’d found some way to rationalize what had happened, his own part in the disaster. If so, she thought, she envied him.

“You should come over,” he said again. “You ought to meet Bobbie.”

“Your wife, right?”

He did a double take. “You haven’t met her.” He turned and pointed vaguely to a slim, blond woman, over by the line of cars. She was holding a child, and she waved back.

“You’ve got a kid.”